Dues Paid
by King Rat
Summary: The not so pleasant life and times of Derek Find, 'membership dues collector', i.e. unlicenced thief hunter for the AM Guild of Thieves. Chapter 4 replaced and all new!
1. Chapter 1: Beginnings

Hello! First Disc story, not to mention my first writing in about 11 years.

It's a story about an original character. Dietrich is my creation. The rest of the Disc and the vast majority of its inhabitants are (OMG DISCLAIMER!) the property of Terry Pratchett. I am planning to keep it going if possible from here, as soon as I have hashed out more of the plot. The character seems to be taking over the story; this usually turns out well when I can get it to happen, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Please read and review!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is just one of Those stories. It is about a boy.

Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl, boy catches girl and professes undying love.

Girl laughs. Girl turns into wolf and mauls boy, then slaughters boy's family before boy beats girl to death with a silver candlestick.

Well, maybe not quite one of Those stories.

This story, now not quite one of Those, does take place on one of Those worlds.

In fact, That world.

It is a world which rides probability to the far edge of the bell-curve, then with a whoop, leaps into hyperspace.

It skims through the void like a dish hurled by an angry god, or an angrier wife. Its bearers, four stellar elephants and the enormous star-turtle A'Tuin, seemingly along for the ride.

This is definitely not the case.

It is the story-ridden magical Disc that is the passenger.

Look closer...

Focus on the continent surrounding the Hub. Some ways out lies the nebulously-bordered country known as Uberwald. It is deep in this forested fastness that our story has already begun. Fifteen years ago...

Pain. All over. Can't move. Got to stop...

Dietrich von Baumsucher tried to open his eyes. That was a mistake. "Aiiiaahh!" He shut his eyes tightly and whimpered, though it didn't lessen the pain a bit.

He heard the telltale voice of an Igor. Specifically, the Igor who worked for the sawmill in town. "Ah, you are awake, young marther. Good. I wath wondering if that liver would work; it thertainly wath a while before we could find it. Oh, it might be a good idea to let your new eye heal a bit before using it."

"What-" he managed to croak, "How-." He lapsed into silence, then tried again. "Why- tied- ?"

"Well, young marther, it wath a bit touch and go. One reason we applied the restrainth ith the... delicathy of the operathionth. We usthually would not try them on anyone not an Igor, but we had thome luck there."

"what - What-"

"It'th the other reathon you're thecured, young marther. The retht of your family wath too far gone when we arrived. Your replathement parts came from them, mothtly. Your farther would have been - "

Dietrich had stopped listening. With a great heave, he sought to loose his bonds, and was rewarded with a horrible deep pain throughout his chest and arms. As his conciousness faded, he heard the Igor sigh and say, "I feel your loth, I really do, young marther. But we must give the bones and new muthcle time to knit together. Thleep now..."


	2. Chapter 2: New Home

Thanks for the feedback I got so far, I appreciate it! I can't guarantee the best stories around, but I'll try to at least keep the updates coming.

Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld and so forth; don't really need to tell you that though, do I?

------------------------------------------------------------

Fourteen years and six months ago...

"Dietrich Baumsucher?"

"Yes?"

"I represent the Council of Peers and Law of the town of Faltz, sir. I believe you have been very fortunate." The man was clad in heavy leather armor, a breastplate and conspicuosly displaying a gold and tin brooch at his throat as his symbol of office. He straightened up, cleared his throat and began reading from a scroll. "It has been decided that in the event of an investigation being done, the charges of murder in the second degree against you will be dropped-"

"Wait, against me?"

"And censures will be issued to various of the ruling families. The council has agreed to pay due sums for the restoration of your health. As well,the agreed market value of five hundred in gold and gems for the Baumsucher family logging enterprise will be paid with all despatch" Dietrich decided to shut up for a moment to hear the rest. His face still hurt from the healing, anyway, and it would be pointless to talk until this fellow was finished.(1)

"-and agreeable new lodgings and apprenticeship will be set up and occupied by said subject in an unspecified location far from the borders of the country." The man lowered the paper and looked thoughtfully again into his face, which was now in a state of outraged confused relief. A neat trick, really.

"So, no mention of possession of extreme contraband?" said Dietrich, quietly.(2)

"Oh, an execution has already been carried out on that count. You will be interested to know that your charred remains are on display before the Town Sherrif's Hall." He turned and pulled a rucksack from the horse behind him.Presenting it in an officious manner, he said in a louder voice, "Now then, sir. Here are your papers being returned to you after inspection. They are all in order, as well as your payment for services to this town. I hope you have a pleasant journey home." In a lower voice, he muttered, "The lord Vice Sherriff wishes to tell you that his debt to your father is now considered fulfilled. Best you not return, or he will be forced to truly carry out that warrant."

Dietrich nodded mutely, and allowed the man to help him aboard his horse. They rode in silence to the nearest section of the main road, 20 miles away.

"I know you will do your old country proud, though you may simply wish to forget us entirely," said the guard, as Dietrich hefted his rucksack and prepared to trek to the nearest inn. "For the time being, that may be the best choice. Be strong, young fellow!" With that, he turned and rode off back into the forest. As he walked, Dietrich eyed the trees on either side of the road mistrustfully. He couldn't be certain that the wolves had believed the council, and that they were taking a huge chance in letting him get out of there. He was fairly sure their wits would cover; nevertheless, he was quite relieved when he reached the safety of the inn several hours before sunset. The husband and wife who ran the inn knew his family, but had also heard of his execution. In any case, neither of them recognised him. The Igor's ministrations had been exceptional in keeping him alive, but they hadn't extended very far into the cosmetic side of things.

At this point, it was proving quite fortunate. He hoped that luck would hold.

That evening, after bidding his hosts good night and retiring to his room, Dietrich broke the seal on the packet of papers and looked them over. They were in a mix of the languages of the plains, mainly Morporkian. He could make out what they said, after a fashion, due to so long having to decipher orders in his father's... he gritted his teeth... business.

The top sheet appeared to be a letter of introduction to a jeweller in a city called Quirm, offering his services as an apprentice. He turned to the next page, and his eyes widened. A jeweler? He was being apprenticed to a Jewellery! He leaped to his feet and started to the door, before he stopped, took a deep breath, and gave himself a solid smack in the face. He was helping nothing by this, and it indeed would be a good cover. He forced himself to sit back down and keep reading.

The jeweler he was being apprenticed to, it turned out, was the son of one of the local dwarf kings who had emigrated to the plains to find his fortune. Must be another favor being called in then, Dietrich mused, and flipped to the next paper in the packet. He read with growing fascination the papers pertaining to his new identity and various traveller's accounts of the vast cities of the plains, and by the time the carriage had arrived two weeks later, had committed them as much as he could to memory.

Dietrich boarded the carriage, and spent the next three weeks in relatively uneventful travel(3), politely listening to other traveller's tales, practicing his languages, and changing carriages, or helping move them, as needed.When the last carriage lurched to a halt and the driver shouted his destination, Dietrich Baumsucher nodded to the others,snatched up his bag and disembarked.

As the dust of the retreating vehicle faded away, Derek Alder Feind stood blinking in the bright afternoon sun. He marvelled for a moment at the wide, ornate gates of the bustling city of Quirm. How imposing they looked, but somehow so thin! He felt a momentary pang of uncertainty...

Then, shouldering his bag, he started walking steadily toward them, and his new life.

----------------------------------

(1) Not to mention less potentially painful.  
(2) Ownership of silver anything, let alone fine tableware, tends to be frowned upon in any country where the ruling class happens to be allergic to it.

(3) For a given value of 'uneventful', anyway.


	3. Chapter 3: Awkward

**Discworld is belongingk to Terry Pratchett.**

Hi! Thanks for the reviews and nudges to get a move on. Everyone needs those sometimes!

It's been brought to my attention that the prologue material is getting a bit long, and that I should get to the main story. Fair enough; I'll do that after this one. The rest of the material can be saved for future stories. Hope you're enjoying reading these!

--------------------------

"I - I didn't mean to - "

The dwarf looked from the young(1) man to the body many yards away with the axe in its back. fine jewelery spilled from a sack a few feet further down the street. A small crowd was already starting to gather.

" I swear master, I meant to only hit his arm!"

"I see lad, what's done is done." Gron Oretaster strode over and grabbed the legs of the fallen thief. "Get the bag, then help me get this body out of here." Derek hurried over and carefully but quickly scooped the fallen pieces into the sack, then lifted the front of the body by the arms and helped his master (2) carry the body back into the shop, onto a bench.  
"Master, I - "

"See to the pieces! You know what to do." Derek stared at his master for a moment, then opened the sack and began sorting out the jewelery into piles by degree of damage to the work. An untrained eye would have only noted one or two that were slightly twisted, but the 'damaged' pile grew at a surprising rate.

As he cleared the bench and laid out his tools to begin the repairs, Derek found himself slightly shocked at how quickly he was distracting himself from the killing he had just done with the assertion of routine. He finished placing the rings and brooches into their clamps for repair, then stood up. This was wrong, he thought. It was the last thing he wanted to do, bring trouble into his master's business. Especially after he had taken so much trouble to teach him an entirely new profession, and help cover his tracks as well. He had to tell him-

"Ahem."

Derek turned and looked down(3). "Master, there is something I must..." He drew up short at the sight of two of the town guards standing at relative ease behind the dwarf, hands on their weapons but quite alert. "Oh no. Master, really, I am so sorry"

His master cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, lad. I realize you couldn't have predicted what happened, and the guards do as well, to an extent. You have been a good and attentive apprentice, and have learned more than I thought you would in such a few short years." He rubbed at his eyes, then sighed. "However, Quirm does have certain laws regarding murder, even accidental murder. We really do value keeping this a quiet community, safe for people to raise their families and such."

Derek tensed. "Master, I swear! I had no intent- I mean, he was breaking the law as well-"

He fell silent and eyed the guards. Their eyes were hard, but their expressions hadn't changed. He noticed a movement, and looked down. His master had taken out a small scroll.   
"I was going to give you this the next spring festival, but my hand seems to have been forced in this matter." He handed the scroll to Derek, who opened it slowly. His eyes widened. "Not the best situation to tell you, of course, and I really think there is much more I could teach you.However, you seem to have understood the basics and standard techniques with good speed. Your journeyman papers are all signed and properly sealed.

"Now, as to the other thing. Normally, you would be imprisoned for quite a while. I have been able to secure a different sentence for you, one that will allow you to find further employment." He coughed uncomfortably, then plunged on. "You are to be banished from the city for ten years"

Derek closed his eyes. "Where shall I go?"

"Now that you have some idea of city life, and still need a place with some amonymity... I would suggest Ankh-Morpork. Big place, able lad like you should be able to fit right in." Before Derek could reply, he indicated the guards. "These gentlemen will accompany you to your room to pack; they will then take you to the city gates to see you off.  
"Really, Derek," he said, clapping a hand on his elbow, "I'm sorry about this too. But this way, you get to see more of the world." He chuckled a bit half-heartedly. "That was quite a throw you made there, you know. If the Guild of Jewellers doesn't accept you, you could always get a job as a mercenary."He turned and walked away.

Derek didn't blame him. What more was there to say? He looked up at the two waiting guards. "Just let me gather my tools here, and I can be packed in twenty minutes."

The guard on the right gave a grunt. "Make it ten. And we Will be timing you."

(1) Well, he is. Fit, lean and so on. You couldn't tell it from his face, though. That bit couldn't have been the face that launched a thousand ships, or a leaky shoe box for that matter. This was more like the face that had ended a couple dozen street fights. Badly.

(2) An apprentice usually finds himself thinking this of the fellow teaching him after a while, albeit reflexively. That, or he ends up thinking of him as "that narrow-minded git who kicked me out onto the street."

(3) The being referenced is a dwarf. Remember? Focus!


	4. Chapter 4: New Tastes

New chapter! Mister Find encounters AM delicacies for the first time. Learning experiences, eh?

Discworld and characters (save Derek Find) property of Terry Pratchett.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Meat pies! Karrak onna stick! Sausages! Inna bun! C'mon Guvnor, sticks to your ribs like no other!"

Derek stopped. He'd already been physically assaulted by the Smell of the sewage - er, river, upon entering, had been 'legally' robbed, and had various attempts at mayhem made on him. He whirled to regard the source of the voice behind him, hand going toward the throwing-axe at his hip.

He looked downward, at a small, greasy man in a white hat.1 Beady eyes looked up from above a small, greasy moustache, below which was a large, toothy grin. The grin seemed to falter as the eyes scanned his face, but grew wide again in nothing flat.

"Whaddya say, guv, how about a nice sausage inna bun? Best value in the whole city, or I'm cutting me own throat!"

Just then, the smell of the various food items on the small man's tray struck his nose. Already stunned by the smells of the city so far, this new one sent him reeling backwards before he could stop himself. "_Dear Gods_**!"**2 he burst out, then caught himself with a start.

_Careful, don't blow your cover_.

"New to our fair city, then?" said the man with an enthusiasm that seemed as greasy as his face. "Dibbler here. Throat Dibbler." Derek found that the small man had already grasped and shaken his hand even before he realized it, and suddenly found one of the 'sausages' in his hand.

"I didn't ask for..."

"Nonsense! Onna house! Always glad to meet new people!" Derek noticed that a few people had stopped and were glancing there way. He heard a snicker.

"What's going on here?"

Throat scowled around at the small group of people that had begun to form around them. "Hey! I can be charitable too! Now if ya ain't buying anything, scram!"

He turned back, a smile on his face and a pot of an incredibly pungent mustard in his hand. "Mustard?"

"No, th-"

A voice came drifting up to him. "Trust me, you'll want the mustard." He looked around toward where the voice had come from, but there was only a small... well, doglike thing. He turned back to Throat. Swallowed.

"Yes, I would like some mustard, please."

"Polite, too! I like that!" The mustard was ladled on with a manky-looking tin spoon, and replaced, with the pot, on the small greasy tray. Throat stepped back with a flourish. "Enjoy!" He turned and lost himself in the crowd.

Derek steeled himself, and took a bite.

He began to chew. Gods. What was in this thing? But it really _was_ a good thing he had taken the mustard.

He swallowed. He heard an intake of breath from those watching.

Was this some kind of test? He felt a little queasy.

He smiled and waved-

The first pain hit.

"Erch..." He doubled over, sweat already pouring from his face. His vision doubled. He wasn't sure, but he could hear someone, far off...

"All right, all right, break it up!"

A helmeted shape, which on closer approach looked like a blurry dwarf, approached. "One of Dibbler's sausages, eh? Well, you're doing better than the last one who had one for the first time. Help me with his arms!"

This last was shouted at another, blurrier figure. Things were looking greyer.

He felt cool stone hands grasp his shoulders. Troll..?

Everything went black.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1 Well, mostly white. In fact, mostly not white. But you get the point.

2 Spoken in Uberwaldean.


End file.
